


everyone keeps laughing at those cars we are passing

by paddingtonfan69



Category: DCU, Harley Quinn (Cartoon 2019)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, Fluff, Low-Key Smut, Post-Season/Series 02, Road Trips, actually probably less than canon violence tbh, mostly just softness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:55:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24932614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paddingtonfan69/pseuds/paddingtonfan69
Summary: They drive.A few minutes after they clear the corn factory, Harley finds Ivy’s palm on her thigh and she can’t stop fucking smiling at it like she’s twelve. Sure, she’s gone down on this woman until she came three times in five minutes, has slept with her whole body curved around her, but for some reason a hand on a thigh puts god damn butterflies in her stomach.___Immediately post-season two, a road trip, an apology, and a lot of tenderness.
Relationships: Pamela Isley/Harleen Quinzel
Comments: 60
Kudos: 523





	everyone keeps laughing at those cars we are passing

They drive. 

A few minutes after they clear the corn factory, Harley finds Ivy’s palm on her thigh and she can’t stop fucking smiling at it like she’s twelve. Sure, she’s gone down on this woman until she came three times in five minutes, has slept with her whole body curved around her, but for some reason a hand on a thigh puts god damn butterflies in her stomach.

Ivy, frustratingly, sexily, devastatingly, remains cool as hell, not realizing that the simple act of a palm on a bare leg is making Harley a hair shy of hysterical. Oblivious, Ivy looks over her shoulder at the still steady rush of police cars behind them, then back at Harley, grinning that smile that Harley knows isn’t for anyone else but her.

“Want me to get rid of these assholes?”

“Aw, for me? You're too kind.” 

Ivy chuckles, takes her god damn perfect hand and _squeezes_ Harley’s thigh, looking at her straight in the eye. Okay, maybe she’s not so oblivious. Without breaking eye contact, she takes the poor excuse for trees that line the highway (not Harley’s highway, one of the boring ones) and expands them, branches tangling together to punch in the windshield of all the cop cars at once. 

Harley cackles with joy as the trees continue merging, successfully creating a barrier between their little car and twelve-vehicle waste of taxpayer money that has been trailing them. (Not that Harley has paid her taxes in years, but still.) Ivy is still _looking_ at her like she didn’t just casually move a whole ass forest in five fucking seconds. She’s still in her wedding dress, hair messy from the drive, the sheer energy from her powers radiating off of her. Harley’s never seen anything more beautiful in her life. 

“What?” Ivy asks, after a moment of Harley just staring at her. “Also, eyes on the road, Harls, Jesus.”

Harley reluctantly turns back to the road. 

“You’re just so _hot,”_ she lets out, causing Ivy to throw her head back and laugh, a loud gorgeous sound that Harley feels in every part of her body. Like, every part. God is this what it’s going to be like being with Ivy, just so constantly turned on all the time? Not that she’s complaining. No fuckin’ way. 

“I just, fuck Ive, it feels so good to not have to hide this shit.”

Ivy shoots her a look, eyebrow raised. “What shit?”

“The being in love with you shit.”

“Right.”

Ivy’s laughter is gone, which causes a now familiar anxiety to beat in Harley’s chest. Which is stupid, Harley knows, it’s fucking stupid, Ivy said she loved her, they did it, they did the end of the movie thing, why is she still so scared?

Ivy’s hand is still on her thigh, though. So that’s something. That’s something new and good and warm.

“Hey, can you pull over?” Ivy asks, suddenly.

Harley whips the car off the road, crashing through the barrier and settling on a classic patch of brown Gotham grass. 

“Jesus, fuck,” Ivy says, squeezing Harley’s thigh again and making the grass greener at the same time. The bitch can multitask. 

“What’s up?” Harley asks, trying to play it cool like she didn’t just cause a severe amount of property damage. In her defense, it is less property damage than her usual Saturday property damage. Wait, is it Saturday? Her thoughts of today had been primarily, _Ivy’s wedding to someone who is not me,_ so she’s a bit jumbled about days of the week. Her eyes shoot to Ivy in the passenger's seat, still gorgeous and perfect and staring at Harley like there isn’t anyone else around. Harley gulps, nervous and scared and exhilarated and horny and overwhelmed. 

But Ivy’s smiling, her big one for Harley again when she says, “I just figured you should be pulled over when I fuck the living daylight out of you.”

Oh. 

“Good call,” Harley breathes, then she’s crawling into Ivy’s lap and putting her hands in her hair and Ivy’s hands are now both on her thighs, pulling her closer and _fuck,_ it’s better than anything in the whole world. 

Then Ivy whispers, “I love you,” into her mouth and, no _that’s_ better than anything in the whole world. 

It’s different, when they’re sober, intentional. Ivy’s mouth is insistent, kissing and biting every part of her exposed skin until Harley is panting and wanting before they’ve really technically started. Her hands find the smooth white satin of Ivy’s wedding dress and rip it open, tearing a jagged line through the expensive fabric, while exposing more of Ivy’s fucking gorgeous body. Well, if that isn’t some perfect symbolism. 

Ivy gasps at the gesture and there’s a split second where Harley thinks she might be mad at her, but then she practically growls, “back seat,” and no, she’s not mad at all.

She’s definitely not mad when she pulls up Harley’s abhorrent dress up and kisses her thigh when it becomes exposed, then her stomach, her breasts to the point where Harley doesn’t remember what fucking words are besides _Ivy,_ and _fuck_ , and _holy shit_. Then Ivy has the absolute gall to let out a low unbearably hot laugh against Harley’s nipple and she remembers words.

“I swear to fucking god, I spent weeks pining over you, probably years if I really think about about it, no definitely years, because god, of course it’s been years, so if you don’t go down on me right now, I’m going to lose my fucking mind.”

Ivy laughs again, louder, and then her hands are reaching between Harley’s legs, opening her up, and her mouth starts a very purposeful path down her body and Harley could fucking scream. And she does. Because she can. Because she can have her best friend who is the hottest and smartest and most powerful person in all of Gotham, probably the world, who is somehow, inexplicably, in love with _her,_ eat her out in a vintage car on the side of the highway like it’s just another Saturday. 

(She’s, like 75% sure it’s Saturday. She’s 100% sure she doesn’t give a fuck right now, with Ivy’s hands back on her thighs and her tongue between her legs.)

After, Harley lies in the backseat with her legs propped up on the car door, Ivy squeezed between them, her head resting on Harley’s chest. They’re protected from the outside world by a canopy of trees just over the car. Harley gestures to their surroundings in awe.

“When the fuck did you make this?” 

Ivy smirks against her collarbone. 

“Oh, you know, sometime between the second and third time you came.”

Harley laughs. The bitch _can_ multitask. 

“I’m sorry, you know,” Ivy says out of the blue. 

Harley blinks down at her. 

“For what, the orgasms?”

Ivy chuckles for a moment but then her face goes serious. 

“No, for the, like, everything? God, I almost fucking married that guy, after everything. You didn’t deserve that, Harls, you put all your cards on the table and I just… I don’t know. I was scared of letting myself actually have what I really wanted, like I never thought I deserved that kind of happiness, that anyone would even look at me like you do and mean it-”

Her voice breaks at the end and she curls further into Harley’s chest. Harley knows that no one else sees her like this, vulnerable and emotional and scared. Harley strokes a hand through her hair in a way that’s both familiar and new at the same time. 

“Thanks,” she murmurs, not sure what to say, not sure how to deal with how relieved she is to hear it all out in the open, plus with the thrill that this is all _real,_ combined with the harsh ache of hearing Ivy voice that kind of doubt. 

“You deserve to be happy, Ivy,” she finally says, softly, then adds, “duh-doi.”

That causes Ivy to look up at her, raise an eyebrow. “Duh-doi?” She asks, all dry monotone. 

Harley smiles. That’s her girl. 

“Look, I appreciate the apology. A lot. But I think you spent the last half hour makin’ it up to me.” 

“Yeah?”

“Duh-doi,” she repeats and Ivy rolls her eyes. “Also, you fucking need therapy, if you’re gonna keep putting your own needs last. You’re amazing and perfect and deserve more things than probably anyone else, so you gotta work on that.” 

Ivy blushes a little, which for her just means a slightly darker shade of green. It’s fucking adorable. 

“Okay,” she says, “though I think I might need a new therapist, ethically.”

Harley grins. “I know some people.”

They lie like that for longer, Harley stroking Ivy’s hair, staring up into the trees, laughing and kissing. Harley wonders if she’s fallen into a alternate dimension where everything is perfect. If she has, she’s fucking staying.

When it starts to get dark, Ivy asks, “do you want to go back?”

“Not really.”

“Me neither.”

They drive. 

* * *

There’s nothing like a month of driving with absolutely no destination to get to know more about the person you’ve already known better than probably anyone else. 

In Pennsylvania, Ivy learns that Harley is obsessed with those gas stations that also make made-to-order junk food. Ivy has to admit that the tater tots from Sheetz are really fucking good, better than they have the right to be, and the way Harley smiles after she pops them into her mouth doesn't hurt either.

Ivy learns that Harley gets unreasonably horny after physical violence. Which she already kind of knew, from years of seeing Harley come back from a fight, breathing heavily, and wordlessly heading to her bedroom with a certain look in her eye that Ivy had tried so so hard to ignore, but would always pop back into her mind at the most inconvenient times.

It hits differently now though, when Harley throws a few congressmen off of a tall office building in DC, watches them splatter on the pavement, and then turns to Ivy with the same look in her eye, pushing her on top a dead republican’s desk, pulling her pants down and kneeling and okay, maybe watching Harley do physical violence does something to her too, because _jesus fucking christ._

She learns that Harley has a soft spot for FM radio, that she likes to snack on cherries in the passenger seat and spit the pits out at minivans. She learns that Harley snores _and_ drools when she sleeps, but when she wakes up, its all soft sighs and sweet kisses and something warm in her chest that Ivy has never felt in her life. 

It’s a month of this; of driving and laughing and fucking and finding random shitty white men to beat up in every city, before Ivy sees Harley smiling at her phone on their massive bed in the suite of the Ritz they’d broken into. 

“Look,” she says, turning her phone to show Ivy, “he got the part!”

Ivy looks to see an exorbitant text from Clayface complete with an image of him as a beautiful blonde woman, smiling at the camera, holding up a script for _A_ _Streetcar Named Desire._

“He’ll make a killer Blanche,” Ivy remarks, surprising herself at the lack of sarcasm, “we gotta go to opening night.”

Harley looks up at her, eyes wide. 

“You really ready to go back?” she asks. 

“If you are, yeah.”

Harley breaks out into a dazzling grin and Ivy can’t help but return it. Which is something she’s been doing a lot recently. She’s never really been the type to smile so much, especially with teeth, but this last month has been, well, it’s been something else. Harley leans up and kisses her smile.

“I just have one more stop planned, and then home sweet home!”

It’s not exactly what Ivy was expecting. It’s sticky. It’s so sticky and there are children everywhere and litter all over the boardwalk, and Ivy wants to stab all these gross ass tourists with the palm trees lining the street. 

“Holdin’ up okay?” Harley asks, stepping out of a storefront with two giant styrofoam cups filled with probably some alcohol, thank _god_. 

“Honestly, no,” Ivy says, the humidity and the fact that people are still using _styrofoam_ this century getting to her, “why the fuck are we in _Myrtle Beach?”_

It comes out harsher than she intends, causing several sunburnt tourists to glare. Ivy doesn’t give a shit. Harley just gives her a teasing grin, looking up at her through her oversized sunglasses and baseball cap that reads _beaches be crazy._ It’s somehow attractive. She hands Ivy the other cup.

“Show me another place with three dollar jumbo daiquiris.”

Ivy takes the drink, because it _is_ a good deal. And fuck, also delicious. 

“Also,” Harley adds, taking Ivy’s hand and leading her down the boardwalk, “did you know that this county we’re in has more police per capita than anywhere in the whole state?”

“No…”

“Yeah, the slimeball who writes the budget for Horry County took all the money that he was supposed to use for the parks and used it to give all his little racist piggies new gas-guzzling cars.”

“Jesus, Harley, I already knew this place sucked, why are you-”

Harley puts a finger on Ivy’s lips. It’s sticky too, but Ivy doesn’t mind.

“That slimeball is currently tied up in our hotel room. Right before he signs the new budget.”

Ivy melts.

_“Harley.”_

“Just thought I’d give you a little treat before we go home.” 

“ _Harley.”_

“What?”

“God, I just fucking love you.”

Harley bounces up to kiss her, a big sloppy thing on the cheek that gets lipstick all over Ivy’s face. Ivy wears it like a badge of honor all the way back to their hotel. 

After they kick the guy around a little (well, a lot), draft a new county budget, make him sign it, throw him in the ocean, and eat a ridiculous amount of fried seafood, they decide to go swimming. 

There’s a state park half an hour down the coast that is less tourist trap and more thick trees and marshes with a beach nestled in there. It’s technically closed at night but Harley drives through the barrier with a laugh and Ivy wonders how the fuck this car has survived for a whole month. 

It’s actually beautiful out here, with no other people, just the moon reflected off the ocean, and the sway of tall grasses beyond the sand. And, god, the way Harley smiles at her, moonlight in her hair and hands tugging off her clothes before she runs into the water - Ivy has to sit down for a second to catch her breath at the sight. 

“You okay there, Ive?” Harley calls from the water. 

“Yeah, I just, yeah.” 

“Well, get your sweet ass in here, then! The water’s warm. Which is, ya know, worrisome, given that it’s night and all, but I’m already here and naked so…”

Ivy grins again. So she strips off her clothes and steps into the water, which _is_ oddly warm, but still nice somehow, wading up to where Harley is standing waist deep. 

When Ivy kisses her, she tastes like saltwater and sweat and fruity cocktails and it’s absolutely perfect in a way that makes Ivy’s heart speed up the way it has every time she kisses Harley. The first few times, she thought it was the thrill of the unknown, the secrecy of it all, then, later, the rush of _finally, god, finally_ , but now there’s a familiarity to it - she’s wakes up every morning in a new city and kisses Harley - but every time, she still feels like she is going to burst of out of her skin with how good it feels. 

Harley’s hand reaches up to her shoulder and, before Ivy knows what’s happening, pushes her down under the water. After the shock, it feels kind of nice actually, cooler when she’s fully submerged, but still, she forces herself to the surface to glare at Harley. 

“Oh, fuck you.”

“Done that already today, sweetheart.”

Harley winks at her and Ivy makes a piece of kelp drag her under the water, but she’s fucking grinning again. 

Later, when they’re both too tired to fake fight like teenagers, Ivy floats on her back with her fingers intertwining with Harley’s, listening to the ripples of the water and the chirping of cicadas. 

“You know this whole trip has been fucking perfect, Harls?”

“Perfect, huh?”

“Perfect.” She swallows. “You, uh, you don’t have to keep doing this though.”

“What, being perfect? I mean, it’s just my nature.” 

Harley gives her hand a playful squeeze, smiling at her over the water. Ivy can’t help but return it. It’s apparently what she does now. She looks back up at the moon, takes a deep breath.

“No, I mean you don’t have to plan all these intricate anti-corporate take downs everywhere we go. Don’t get me wrong, I love it, it’s sick as hell that the shitbag county commissioner is probably drowning right now, but I just-” She catches Harley’s eye again. “You know I’ll love you even if you don’t give me a badass heist every week.”

“Yeah?”

Harley’s voice is smaller than usual, the insecurities she can hide from everyone except Ivy seeping through in just that one syllable. It makes Ivy want to punch something, mostly herself a month ago. She repositions herself in the water so she’s standing and pulls Harley to stand with her, water lapping at their chests. She takes her face between both hands. 

“Yeah, Harls. You don’t have shit to prove to me anymore, okay? Cause I’m, you know, crazy in love with you.”

Harley nods. 

“Okay.” She nudges Ivy with her leg under the water. “You big ol’ sap.”

Ivy can see the ghost of a tear in her eye, but she smiles. 

“Only for you,” she whispers, and kisses Harley, slow and sweet, not caring at all that she’s naked in the ocean in middle of the night in Myrtle fucking Beach. Maybe she has become a big ol’ sap, because all she cares about is letting Harley know that after years of shitty parents and shitty boyfriends and a shitty world, she’s fucking _loved._

The car finally gives out in North Carolina, so they fly back to Gotham, Harley drooling on her shoulder the whole flight.

When they arrive, the airport itself is in pandemonium, citizens with cuffed hands whirling around the baggage claim, two of Two-Face’s goons screaming at each other about what Ivy thinks is dental insurance, and what looks to be a supernatural lightning storm outside. 

“Well, fuck, I guess we’re back,” Ivy says, taking in the scene. 

“You can take the girls out of Gotham,” Harley says, as Bane crashes in through the glass windowpanes. “But Gotham will still be a crazy fucking shitstorm when you come back.”

Ivy can hear the humor in her voice, but something else, a fondness for it all. She nudges her shoulder. 

“Come on Harls, you love this chaotic shit, go out there and cause some mess I’ll inevitably have to clean up.”

Harley grins up at her, wide and open, presses a kiss to her lips, brief but full of an unspoken _thank you._ Then she’s bouncing off toward Bane, stealing a backpack of a confused passerby and waving it like a weapon. 

“Bane!” She yells, “I thought I fucking killed you in your dumb ass pit!”

“Harley! Congrats on your romantic getaway, I was rooting for you two!” he booms, then stops, mind catching up to her words, “and fuck you, the pit was good in theory.”

“Yeah, yeah, like capitalism and heterosexuality.” She smacks him with the backpack, sending him flying back against the arrivals board. “They fucking suck in practice.”

She looks back over her shoulder and blows Ivy a kiss, and god damn it, Ivy is so in love with the woman currently stealing a taser off a TSA agent and it doesn’t matter if they’re in an old car or the ocean or a fight in an airport, Ivy is stupid happy in a way she didn’t think possible. 

Harley comes back over to her, out of breath and joyous, with someone’s blood smeared on her _I went to cape cod and all I got was this fishing t-shirt_ shirt. 

“Ready to go home, honey?” She asks cheerfully, casually tasing a goon. 

Ivy fucking grins again, grabs Harley by the hand and gets them out of there. 

“Ready for it all.”

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Naked Kids" by Grouplove, inspiration from these two crazy kids needing a little bit more emotional communication post-finale, cameo by me taking out my issues with Myrtle Beach on these fictional cartoon bisexuals.


End file.
